


Spymaster Woes

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Master of Death Harry Potter, Pre-Slash, no longer a one shot, post-chapter 83 (BSD)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2020-09-24 04:37:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20352517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Having a friend with an equally absurd sense of adventure kept things interesting.Unfortunately, this new assignment she sent Harry on was a bit too much.(summary edited 05/08/2020)





	1. Chapter 1

Harry snorted in disbelief. "What makes you think my cover won't be blown at a snap of a finger?"

Unlike Voldemort, Dostoevsky was rational to a fault, without any of the Dark Lord's hangups and erratic idiosyncrasies. No obsession for power, no known insecurities about his childhood, no known attachments to people (dead or alive), no drive to prove himself as the overt top dog of an illicit group. That made him a tougher and, in some ways, a more terrifying nut to crack.

Voldemort could be relied on to skip the mindgames if torture was on the table, displaying dominance through pain. Dostoevsky _preferred_ mindgames and coolly disposed of his toys once he was done with them.

"That's exactly what we're expecting," Dame Christie said, ever composed as she drank her tea: Gorreana Broken Black Leaf. That it was a staple spoke more of the Order's affluence and tastes. "However, you needn't worry about that. Everything else is already being accounted for, so do what you have to do."

Discomfort prickled up Harry's spine. In essence, he was being thrown to the wolves and onto a complex chessboard he couldn't have a clear view of. He owed her a huge favor, too, so he couldn't exactly say _no._

Unlike before, however, he was at least aware of _why_ he needed to do it.

Whatever complicated expression he had caused Christie to laugh, and she patted her friend's arm.

"It won't be much different from the dark wizard busting you used to do in your old world, I promise." There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye that promised adventure. "Didn't you complain you were getting bored? At the very least, this one will keep you on your toes, and he doesn't have a literal magic backdoor into your subconscious. It won't take much to have him believe defying death is your Ability. Your actual repertoire will help you deal with everything else."

Harry groaned and ran a hand down his face. "Glad to know you think so highly of me."

"Of course I do," she said with a meaningful glance at a framed photograph on her table. Five years on from their original meeting, and he hasn't changed one bit. "You're the kind of puzzle he won't be able to resist."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might continue this with a couple of one-shots if there's enough interest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This now officially takes place after BSD Chapter 83 + a handwaved conclusion to that arc. Future bits will have spoilers up to that canon point.

The plan was simple: get to Japan, play tourist and observe all the parties involved in this reality-warped mess, _be_ a tourist while he was at it and sample the local cuisine, then wing it and track down their prison escapee. Just because he was running a favor for Christie didn't mean he couldn't enjoy himself during downtime on his first trip outside Europe, _away_ from his friend's usual crowd and the occasional Transcendental.

Getting bored by the same old assignments was only part of the story. There was an itch growing under his skin, a mighty need to step out and see more of the world he ended up at - not as a spy tied to the Knight Commander, but as _Harry,_ former Unspeakable and accidental dimension hopper.

He really shouldn't have stopped by the Death Chamber when Horton mentioned offhand that the Veil was acting up.

Just as he shouldn't have gotten into this particular taxi waiting for him outside the Tokyo International Airport terminal. 

"Where to, sir?"

A service cap obscured the man's eyes. Not a strange detail when it was part of the uniform, but Harry _could_ hear that the driver's pronunciation was smoother compared to some of the airport staff.

"To the Noge district at Yokohama, please," he said in careful Japanese, shutting the door. Harry might not have his accent down pat, but he managed to cram enough of the basics between his talk with Christie and his flight. Thank Merlin for the Department's insistence on avoiding magical workarounds for information retention, lest those spells and potions interfere with their work. "Guest House Futareno."

"Ah?" The driver seemed surprised, but quickly remembered himself as he started the engine. When he replied, it was in the same language. "Of course, sir."

"Thanks," Harry said, sinking into his seat. Napping on his flight wasn't enough to ward off jet lag. "Know any good spots to visit that are good to relax at?"

"Well." The driver bit the inside of his pale, chapped lip in thought. "There are two public libraries there. The izakaya at Noge are cozy if you're here for a drink. Pio City - ah, that's Sakuragicho Golden Center near the subway station - also has several restaurants and coffee houses of interest. Then, there's an assortment of love hotels and gay bars."

Harry choked.

Sex tourism was a thing. He didn't look like he was here for _that,_ did he?

"Let's go with the first one?"

The driver's smile was a bare upturn of his mouth. Harry got the impression he was being laughed at.

"Very well. I can take you there after your check-in at the guest house, free of charge."

"No, no, that's not necessary!"

"I insist." The driver tipped his hat. "You're a guest, and it would be an inconsiderate failure on my part if you got lost."

Harry winced. He'd heard about how much the Japanese prized hospitality, but didn't imagine they went to this extent to fulfill it.

"All right," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Can't fault the guy for wanting to do things right and proper. "To the library, it is."

He really shouldn't have agreed.

It was too late for regrets by the time he was deposited at the library. That taxi was long gone by the time Harry was browsing the shelves after speaking with the receptionist, fatigue slowly creeping up on him now that he was no longer seated.

When he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, he encountered a folded piece of paper that definitely hadn't been there when he took out his wallet at the guest house. Upon seeing its contents, Harry ran a hand down his face and let out a rather aggravated sigh.

There, scribbled with a fountain pen, was an unfortunately familiar emblem of a cartoon rat straight out of a horror game, with two large, eerie black eyes and a wide, mocking grin. 

Harry could neither deliver the punch he wanted, nor could he tear his hair out.

He compromised by ripping the note apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go.
> 
> Like it? Hate it? Confused? Let me know in the comments 👇


	3. Chapter 3

His pretend vacation was a disaster barely two hours in and the day wasn’t over.

After hauling himself back to the inn, the first thing he did was to manually debug his room, studiously ignoring the imagined conversation with Christie running in the back of his mind: he had to learn doing plenty of things the Muggle way at her insistence, and there was no escaping the mild smugness she’d exhibit once Harry had to make the inevitable video call. To her credit, Christie was subtle as most women who were born in high society and solidified their rule with a velvet glove tended to be, but Harry knew what signs to watch out for after years of extended exposure.

His second task was to shrink his repacked luggage and Apparate to his backup reservation at a different hotel halfway across town. Cancelling his stay at the inn would necessitate too many explanations that would draw attention, namely: no, he wasn’t doing this because he disliked the service or the amenities, making up for it wasn’t necessary, please and thank you. Well, whatever. He needed to pop back in anyway and be seen leaving and returning to the inn to keep up appearances.

Lastly, he set up his cellphone to make the video call after casting a handful of protection spells around his new room. The Order had too much money on their hands, so of course that meant they had their own satellite networks as a security measure. One less thing to worry about for as long as he avoided frying his phone.

“Potter.” 

Diffused sunlight filtered through the light curtains of Christie’s sitting room. It was an hour before noon in London, reminding Harry that he’d forgotten dinner. Not that it mattered since jet lag was quickly catching up to him, and he completely planned to pass out once he made his report.

“Dame Christie,” he replied, the use of her formal title a habit when he was on the job. “I’ve arrived.”

“In a different room, too,” she observed, likely having seen photos of the two suites before. Christie was nothing but detail oriented, and both Dostoevsky and this whole contest in Japan had been on her personal radar for years now. “How was your first encounter?”

There it was on his tiny screen: the tiniest upward tilt of the corners of her mouth while she sipped tea, followed by a glimmer in her eyes that Harry would’ve missed had he not been looking for it. What were friends for, if not to make fun of each other in disastrous situations that had potentially deadly consequences?

Groaning, he hunched over as he ran a hand down his face. Should’ve made a cuppa before he dialed.

“Are you sure he’s not the flashy type? Because disguising himself as a cabbie isn’t the best way to hide as an escapee from a top secret maximum security prison. That’s just showing off!”

“Perhaps that’s the point,” Christie replied, setting down her cup. “Describe everything to me.”

So Harry did, pausing every now and then as he summoned up memories of Dostoevsky’s body language, the cab they were in, the route they took. Their conversation, of course, he had little trouble recounting. Dostoevsky had been suitably engaging, as if he’d been driving taxis for a decade instead of sitting behind computer screens half the time and talking people into killing others before taking themselves out for the rest. This shouldn’t be surprising: one of Christie’s informants caught wind of how the Port Mafia’s documents ended up in the Russian’s hands. Mori had picked the worst henchman to entrust that list to.

The one thing Harry didn’t recount was Dostoevsky’s mention of gay bars. _That_ was entirely unnecessary and something he’d take to – well, whenever he actually managed to permanently die.

After mulling over the report, Christie nodded to herself.

“It’s an invitation,” she surmised, quelling Harry’s incoming surly remark with a look. “Up your timeline and take it when you next see him.”

He grimaced. Already, he could see where this was going. _Had_ seen where this was going since the day she gave the assignment, since she wouldn’t have mentioned Dostoevsky’s potential interest in him without reason. 

“He’ll know you’re up to something.”

“Aren’t I always,” she said, dry as a desert. “Do it anyway and cooperate at your discretion. Remind him that the second clause of our agreement is now in effect.”

Whatever that meant, because Harry wasn’t privy to whatever arrangement Christie had with Dostoevsky and the Guild, and he disliked this convoluted way of doing things. Never mind that the part about him not knowing part of the truth was a petty lie, and Harry would insist that spying on someone who knew they were being spied on wasn’t spying. That said, he couldn’t deny that his presence here as the Order’s de facto representative was well within the chaos he signed up for as one of Christie’s operatives.

Espionage wasn’t just about collecting information. Sabotage was part of the job, and Harry’s colorful track record of stumbling into messes and getting in the way made him a good fit. Tacking on a capture request to his list of tasks was but a logical step.

The fact of the matter was that Dostoevsky didn’t pay a personal visit to just anyone, but Christie stepping in at this stage of the game was bound to catch his attention. All Harry had to do was keep that attention on him while working around the very obvious expectation that he was here to somehow interfere with Dostoevsky’s game and take him out.

Right.

Easier said than done.

“Got it,” he said. Technically, this was the truth. Winging it _was_ part of the plan.

He fell asleep minutes after the call ended, not even bothering to change out of his travel clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been an interesting few months. How are y'all doing? Hope you're all healthy and safe.
> 
> As always, comments are very much appreciated


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